


5 Months

by calumshood



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 11:34:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calumshood/pseuds/calumshood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a calum oneshot where (y/n) dies and he writes her a bunch of letters in his time of mourning</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Months

November 26th

It's been a month. A whole fucking month since it happened. I can still hear the phone ringing and the sirens. I can still hear your mothers screams. A whole fucking month has gone by and the only thing I've looked at is my ceiling fan. The boys try to help but nothing really works. Well besides a nice bottle of Jack and the t-shirt you left crumpled up on my bedroom floor. I haven't been able to go to your house yet, or even look at your face through the screen of my phone. I've been listening to your song like it's my fucking religion. Fuck, I miss you. I keep calling your phone. Leaving messages that are all sniffles and sighs. I just can't believe it. I can't. You know, there's this time in the morning, before I'm fully awake, that the sun is squeezing through the cloth coverings of my blinds and I can see the soft dust in the air. The time where I would have to pick your hair out of my mouth as you slept soundlessly against my chest. I keep expecting to see you there, sitting at the end of the bed in one of my shirts and a mug of tea in your hand, watching me until I woke up as you always did. Or I'd hear your voice echoing through the halls singing the song that was stuck in your head so badly that I'd have to cover my ears with the pillow. The time when I expect things to be back to normal and wake up from this endless night terror. I just want to hold your hand one last time. I don't think I did that enough. 

 

November 28th

Luke found the last letter. He's been coming around every day to see how if I'm still alive and doing a thorough house check to make sure I'm not getting into something that only you could get me out of. He says I shouldn't be doing this. That it'll only make things worse. He said I'm only hurting myself and you're never gonna come back and that I should realize this before the walls of my sanity come crumbling down around me. I told him that he didn't know what he was talking about and to go fuck himself. He left. I feel bad now. He's been good, he really has, and I've been an absolute nightmare. It's hurting him a lot too, I know how close the two of you were. Some nights when he stays over to hold me so I'll sleep I wake up and feel his tears on the back of my neck. Why the fuck did it have to be you? Its thrown everything off. Michael can't even look at me without his eyes resembling a basement flood and Ashton hasn't laughed since he heard. It's just shit. Oh yeah, I talked to your mom a couple days ago. She said that she missed me and wanted me to come for lunch. I told her I'd try and she understood. 

 

December 2nd

I went. I went for you. This was yesterday. I've been drowning in whiskey and vomit since then. Your mom cried when she saw me, claimed she saw traces of you on my skin. I wouldn't be surprised if she was speaking in a literal sense. You're everywhere. Your dad hugged me but never really looked me in the eye. He just stared at the your old teddy bear I'd brought for them until his eyes glazed over and he had to excuse himself from the table. We didn't talk much. It didn't feel right without you holding everyone up with your dumb jokes and stupid theories on political stances and how the world is going to end. I miss those a lot. I really fucking do. I went into your old bedroom. It just felt cold. I snagged your favourite book and the picture of your dead dog that you kept under your pillow. Do dogs go to heaven, (y/n)? I'm only asking you because if there is life after death, you deserve to have the best of it. I hope you and your dead dog are doing well. I hope he's licking your face and curling up with you when I can't. Jesus fuck I need you. 

 

December 5th

Where the fuck did you go? I need you (y/n), I really fucking need you. I need you and you left me stranded here all alone? You couldn't have even bothered to take me with you? Why didn't you take me with you? 

 

December 6th

Sorry about yesterday. You deserve better. It wasn't your fault, I know, but I can't fucking breathe without you. 

 

December 11th

I guess I should probably tell you about your funeral. I know you'd want to hear about it. You always talked about how you'd want it to be a huge deal and everyone would be crying and mourning and hating themselves for not spending enough time with you. You always loved the attention. God fucking damn it, you sure got it. Anyways, you looked beautiful, Jesus even on your death bed you could make my heart falter. I picked out the dress. It was your favourite. Y'know, that white one you wore the night we got smashed and pretended to get married on the beach in March? It was something only me and you knew about and if you were going to be buried, I wanted you to be buried with a memory as reckless and impulsive as you were. I hope you're still wearing it wherever you are. Anyways, everyone was in black except for you. Your father cried. I shouldn't have told you that. Well, everyone cried. So many people showed, you would have been impressed. It sat at the front in front of your cold body with your parents, the boys, and Em. She cried the most I think. I can't imagine burying my sister at 13. Michael held her most of the way through. He always hated seeing you upset and she has the same eyes as you, so I think that hit him really hard. Your parents spoke first. They talked about how you were as a child and everything they thought they knew about you. Your father said he always knew you were too good for this world and was almost relieved that you passed through all the shit and piss and went back home to the sky where you always belonged before it could scar you too much. By that point Luke's shoulder was soaked and I had a headache the size of your fist. I spoke as well. Or tried to. Ashton came and took over about a quarter of the way through. I'm sorry I couldn't do better. I've been reading it to the clouds to try and make it up to you. Listen for me, will ya? Luke spoke after I did and talked about how you were incomparable to anything other than the universe itself and hoped that it was satisfied enough to not take anyone else for a long, long time. He said you were enough of a loss to last centuries and that the universe should stop being so greedy. They say only the good die young. Actually fuck that. You weren't good. You were fucking brilliant and the goddamn universe was probably jealous that a mere human could hold everything it had to offer in the palm of her hand. It makes me sick. Anyways, your sister didn't want to speak, claimed her feelings couldn't be contained in the unworthy words of the English vocabulary. Poor girl. She's never going to trust the world again. I don't blame her. 

 

December 12th

Sorry about not finishing yesterday. I had to remind my lungs to keep working. 

 

December 20th 

I'm back home now; my mom insisted I come for the holidays. After the funeral she wanted me to come back with her but she didn't want to see me if I was going to try to drink you away. I told her I didn't want to see anything if it wasn't your eyes. But now I'm here. I saw Mali for the first time since the funeral. She said I looked like death. The only words I could mumble in reply were 'I wish'.

 

December 26th

It's been two months. I haven't stopped throwing up all day.

 

December 27th

Being home has been weird. There are barely any traces of you left here. Only the picture of the two of us and my parents on the mantel. They say it's good for me to be away and not be reminded of your prior existence every day. How can I not be reminded when I can feel you in my veins. I don't think my lungs will last much longer. They were barely capable of working when I tasted your lips so you can only imagine what they're like now. I'm at the beach. You loved the beach. I remember you telling me that you saw God in the point where the ocean meets the sky. I know you're there now. I'll start coming more often so I can see you. You're the only godlike thing I'll ever know. 

 

January 5th  
I'm back home now. I left early. I slept through New Years. I can't stand the idea of existing in a year that you don't. I know you're still here somewhere. I can feel it in my spine. Missing you is like a fucking toothache and I'm in desperate need of a root canal.

 

January 8th  
I went to your grave today. The sun was warm. I felt strange, like I wasn't connected to my body. my feet were moving but my mind was elsewhere. Michael's been coming here. I know because he left red roses. Only he would. They resembled the colour of your cheeks when he evoked a blush. He always loved doing that. 

 

January 13th  
I tried to go to your apartment today. I ended up sitting on the curb for four hours and heaving my lunch into a random's trash bin. Luke said to try again in a couple weeks. I will. I promise. I just need to wait until my ribs don't feel like their cracking every time I think of your mouth. 

 

January 19th  
Luke cracked last night.He came over and yelled at me for an hour about how I can't die with you and I need to be stronger than this. He said that I needed to get out of this funk and stop writing these fucking letters. He made an appointment for me with a grief counsellor. I have to go next week. 

 

January 25th  
Three months tomorrow. Luke insists I spend it sober under his watch. He's trying to help, he really is. I hope he's prepared for the storm forming behind my eyes. 

 

January 28th  
I just got back from my appointment. My counsellor was a kind of nice young woman. I would think she was pretty if your name wasn't still dripping from my mouth. She tried to ask about you but I could only mustle up the strength to tell her the colour of your hair. The rest of the time she just looked at me with meaning and went through the stages of getting over the death of a loved one. She said it was extremely hard for her when her grandma died. I told her to shut up because she clearly didn't know what it was like to have your heart held in the palm of somebody else's tiny hand and have both ripped away from you with a single phone call. I left before she could respond. She left a message on my phone saying she wanted to schedule another appointment and that she was sorry for how this one turned out. I haven't replied. 

 

February 1st  
I went through the pictures on my phone for the first time since. They were full of you, much like everything else. 

 

February 9th  
Me and Luke went to your apartment today. The building owner called me a few days ago and told me to clear your stuff out or it would be sent to the trash. The place reeked of old memories and silly songs you used to sing me while you made dinner. We didn't end up throwing out much, only most of your clothes. I kept a couple shirts and your favourite pyjamas. I don't know why. They reminded me of your skin. I put most of it in storage, hoping one day you'll be resurrected and come back to collect all the feelings I've stored under my skin for you and maybe you'll still want your TV set. I kept all the important stuff of course. Things like photo albums and our favourite CDs and your bottle cap collection. The waves crashed over me the moment I stepped into your room. It was like you were still there. It was warm and smelled of your hair. I crawled under the covers hoping to find you there and lied down until your scent became familiar once again and prayed for the earthquake in my brain to cease. It never really did. My eyes poured water falls and my feet are soaked from the rivers they left behind. Nothing feels right anymore. I don't feel me. I can't feel you. 

 

February 16th  
Happy birthday, babe. I haven't felt this shit in a really long time, but it's nice to feel something again. Holy fuck, you would have been 21 today. Imagine. You would probably wake up with this false heir of maturity to you and think you were finally capable of so much more. I miss your stupid antics and watching to bite your fingernails. I miss putting your toothbrush away and picking up your dirty laundry. Everything feels so empty. I've been yelling at shadows for hours, screaming at you to come out of hiding and stop torturing me with your absence. I did this until my neighbour called Luke and he held me until I couldn't feel anything but his steady heartbeat and the rising and falling of his chest. He acted as the shelter for the hurricane strong enough to be named after you, and it was nice to know I wasn't the only one getting wet. 

 

March 2nd  
I'm sorry I haven't been writing as much as I used to. Melissa told me it really wasn't healthy and I should try and find other things to use as a mental crutch. Melissa's my therapist. I finally told her your name. She told me I should start writing music again. I wrote a song about your eyelashes. You would hate it. Things have been a bit better, I hope that makes you happy. Luke made me get rid of your bottle cap collection. Said it was a waste of space. I always thought it was stupid, but you love it. You're not here anymore, so what does it matter, right? I feel bad saying that. 

 

March 10th  
I've been informed that this is to be my last letter to you. They say it's time to move on, that this is only keeping me from recovering. Luke says I shouldn't wreck myself over you, that I should respect you more than that. Michael and I finally started speaking again, he says he sees traces of you in my smile, that you're still here in a way that gives me goose bumps. Please stay though, it's been quite lonely. I'll miss physically writing to you, but that doesn't mean I'll ever stop trying to get your attention from down here. I want you back, (y/n) and I don't exactly know what to do with myself besides think of your voice and how it made my stomach feel when you said my name. I'm trying though, I have to. I'll love you forever, of course. There's no doubt about that. Even when I'm old and wrinkly and possibly married to someone with small hands and at least some sensibility. I'll still look for you in that skyline and say your name like a promise in a mouthful of cavities. 

 

-Cal


End file.
